


there are darker things than the absence of light

by tamquams



Category: Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, adam parrish pov, call down the hawk compliant, mister impossible era, ronan is... not actually there, sarchengsey makes a phone call cameo though!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 20:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams
Summary: Alter idem, marked unread.
Relationships: Declan Lynch & Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 12
Kudos: 85





	there are darker things than the absence of light

**Author's Note:**

> howdy howdy! hope you're all staying safe and doing well!! just a bit of housekeeping before we begin:
> 
> 1\. once again, just a reminder that this is the user formally known as @chuckbass !! 
> 
> 2\. this exists because i am absolutely obsessed with [this mister impossible excerpt](https://twitter.com/mstiefvater/status/1369644501900345346/photo/1) that maggie tweeted the other day. also, i'm an adam parrish and declan lynch lovebot, and a platonic decladam supremacist. i had to take this excerpt and run with it; i make no apologies.
> 
> 3\. title comes from blood ballet by maggie rogers, for no reason other than it's a great song and i love that lyric <3
> 
> 4\. i know nothing about harvard and i don't really want to - any descriptions of adam's university experience are based on my own.

_**asshole❤️ (read at 9:03pm):** tamquam_   
_**management (sent at 9:04pm):** alter idem._

* * *

_Alter idem_ , marked unread.

Adam doesn’t think much of the text at first. It comes in while he’s in an exam, his phone turned to airplane mode for his once-a-week three-hour public speaking class. Why his advisor recommended a three-hour 6:30pm lecture once a week rather than a one-hour class three times a week at a normal time, he isn’t sure, but there’s nothing to be done about that now (except maybe request a new advisor). In any event, he doesn’t see the text until he’s leaving the lecture hall after turning in his exam, but that’s not unusual. Ronan’s phone usage occurs sporadically, at all hours of the day and night, and it’s not uncommon for Adam to answer texts or return calls a few hours later. So, it doesn’t strike him as odd that Ronan texted him when he knows Adam is in class, or at least any more odd than anything else that Ronan does. (Later, Adam thinks that, being psychic and all, he probably should have had a bad feeling. But there’s no point in getting caught up in that when he has so many more important things to worry about).

It’s when Adam wakes up the next morning and sees that the text is marked unread that he feels the first fluttering of worry in his stomach. No, it’s not the fact that the text is unread — it’s that the text is marked as _sent_. Not even delivered, but _sent_. Like Ronan said _tamquam_ and then turned his phone off. Like he said _tamquam_ when he really meant _goodbye_. Frowning at his phone’s cracked screen, Adam shoots off another text.

_**management (sent at 6:19am):** hey, are you up?_

Still not delivered. Adam bites down on his lip, finger hovering over the call button, then decides against it. Ronan’s phone probably died; it wouldn’t be the first time he “forgot” to charge it. Or maybe he dropped it in water; he’s done that before, too. He’s probably asleep now anyway, and he’ll call Adam later between classes and everything will be fine. Adam shakes off his worry and grabs his shower caddy, his mind smoothly transitioning into the mental planning of his day.

He purposely does not check the text’s delivery status after his shower, just glancing at his notifications to see if there’s a reply yet. None. Nothing comes in as he dresses, collects his books for the day, detours to the dining hall to grab some coffee and a hot breakfast. He keeps telling himself it really isn’t a big deal, but it’s hard to ignore the ever-tightening knot in his gut. It stresses him out even more that he can’t tell if it’s just his usual Adam-grade anxiety, or instinct, or even the whole psychic thing. Even now, a year later, it’s harder to sort out what’s magic and what’s just Adam without Cabeswater there to help. But Adam is nothing if not a study in compartmentalization, so he packs it away as tightly as possible and goes about his business. Class, studying in the library, class, lunch, class. Against his better judgment, he doesn’t put his phone on airplane mode, just switches it to vibrate and stuffs it into his back pocket hoping that when Ronan finally answers, he’ll feel the quick _buzz-buzz_ and his worry will melt away.

Except his phone never buzzes, and when he finally gives in and checks the delivery status after his final class of the day, the text is still clearly not delivered.

The dam breaks then, at five in the afternoon, as Adam sits on a bench deep in the heart of campus and watches the setting of the sun. His breath catches in his throat and he finally taps his thumb against the call button and raises his phone to his right ear. It doesn’t ring so much as once, just immediately tells him in a robotic, feminine voice that _the person you are trying to reach has a voicemail box that is not set up yet. Goodbye._ The call disconnects and he unthinkingly calls again, just to receive the exact same message. His bottom lip is trembling as he lowers the phone into his lap and blinks at the screen.

 _Alter idem_ , marked unread.

His next move is dangerous, perhaps, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Ronan’s going to be furious at Adam for it, probably spend the entirety of Thanksgiving break passive-aggressively bitching about it at the kitchen table at the Barns, but Adam doesn’t care; God, he’d do anything to hear Ronan’s voice right now, even if it’s being used to complain, because at least then he would know Ronan’s okay. He scrolls through his contacts, sighs when he finds the name he’s looking for, and then presses the call button and brings the phone back to his ear.

 _Hi, this is Declan Lynch, sorry I can’t come to the phone right now_ , Declan’s voice says immediately in Adam’s ear. Adam hangs up swiftly, the blood in his veins turning to ice.

Declan and Adam aren’t particularly close, thanks to Ronan’s childish feud with his older brother, but they understand each other on a certain level. Adam understands that Declan is not boring at all but that he wears this dull façade like armor, pretending to be someone he’s not to protect his family. Adam understands that Declan is, to a certain extent, far more unpredictable than Ronan will give him credit for, and cleverer, too. Adam understands that Declan loves his younger brothers more than anything in the world and will do absolute _anything_ to keep them safe, even at his own expense. Perhaps specifically at his own expense.

Adam also understands that Declan would never turn his phone off or let it die unless it was the only way to protect his family.

Breathing shakily, Adam tries calling Matthew on a whim. Once again, the phone doesn’t ring, just informs him that Matthew also does not have his voicemail set up. Not that Adam would leave a message, anyway. What would he even have said to Matthew, had he answered? _Hey, Matty, it’s Adam. Have you seen or spoken to your brothers lately? Please tell me Ronan didn’t run off with his new bestie Bryde._ Yeah, no. Better not to worry Matthew if he doesn’t know anything. Adam’s actually glad he didn’t answer, even if he would find Matthew’s voice soothing at the moment.

 _I just want to know_ , Adam had told Ronan not that long ago, _that when I come for break, you’ll be there._

Ronan had promised. _I’ll be here. In one piece._ He had _promised_ , and Adam has to believe that he’ll keep his promise. Has to believe it because this is _Ronan_ , brilliant and loyal and unfaltering, remarkable Ronan. Ronan who never lies, Ronan who never breaks a promise, Ronan who loves Adam and wants him to come back. Ronan, who is the only thing that Adam has ever believed in.

Adam breathes in, holds it in his lungs for a moment, and then breathes out. He doesn’t feel much better for it, but his hands are shaking less, so at least there’s that.

He’s halfway back to his dorm when he finds himself calling Gansey. This time, the phone does ring, which is a good start. It’s even better when the call actually connects, albeit with a lot of crackling and static in Adam’s hearing ear.

“Adam?” Blue’s voice cuts in and out, and the heaviness in his chest lifts just a bit. “What’s up?”

Adam opens his mouth and then closes it, realizing he doesn’t know what he should say. _Hey, Blue, do you know where Ronan is? I think he’s missing, haha, help me_ probably isn’t it. He clears his throat. “Hey, Blue,” he says gratefully. “Uh, how are you?”

There’s some indistinct shouting in the background, clear enough to be recognizable as Henry but not quite intelligible. Gansey must be closer to the phone, because Adam can just make out his voice saying, _Oh, that doesn’t look so good_. Into the receiver, Blue shouts, “Could be worse! What about you?”

Reaching his dorm building, Adam slides his wallet out of his pocket and removes his student I.D. to scan it. The door unlocks and he slips inside, heading for the stairs rather than the elevator — he’s not much of a fan of small, enclosed spaces. “I, uh,” he starts, holding the stairwell open for a girl who comes up behind him, “Well, I’m, you know, fine. I was just wondering —”

“ _Fine_ ,” Blue interrupts, her voice accusatory. “ _Fine_ never really means _fine_. What’s wrong?”

 _Is something wrong with Parrish?_ Gansey asks in the background. Henry’s muffled voice says something like, _Put him on speaker, I want the tea._

“I’m putting you on speaker,” Blue says before Adam can answer her question. There’s a pause, another crackle, and then Blue’s voice says louder, “Okay, now what’s up?”

Adam takes the last set of steps two at a time and then shoves out of the stairwell onto his floor. He has to scan his I.D. again to enter his own hallway, then pushes his wallet back into his pocket to retrieve his keys. “I’m not sure,” he mutters into the phone, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the floor. “I just, um, Ronan’s not answering his phone, and my texts aren’t being delivered, and I have a bad feeling.”

Blue _hmms_ into the phone. Closer now, Henry asks, “Have you tried his brothers?”

Adam unlocks his door and finds the room empty; Fletcher’s got a long afternoon lecture today and then he’ll be in the library for half the night afterwards, so Adam’s got the place to himself for the time being. “Yeah,” he says, flicking the lightswitch up and shutting the door softly behind him. He locks it and then toes off his shoes, leaving them at the foot of his bed. “Nothing. All their phones are off.”

“Even Declan’s?” Gansey interjects rather incredulously.

“Even Declan’s,” Adam repeats in confirmation. He carefully hangs his bag on the back of his desk chair and then sits on the edge of his bed, running one restless hand through his hair. “I just — maybe I’m overreacting, or—”

“No,” Gansey says. “No, I don’t think you are.”

They’re all quiet for a moment, considering. Adam listens to the disconcerting mechanical noise in the background of the call for several seconds before he thinks to ask, “Where _are_ you guys, anyway?”

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Blue asks instead of answering the question. It’s possible that she didn’t even hear it; Adam’s head is spinning so fast he’s not quite sure he _asked_ it. “Did he tell you about...?”

“About?” Adam’s brows furrow. “I don’t know, I was home just a few days ago. We, we talked about Bryde. I scried and I saw this — this — this _thing_ , this terrible thing, and I was lost and he had to bring me back. This is about Bryde, isn’t it? Fuck.”

There’s soft murmuring on the other end, like Blue’s covered the microphone while she discusses something with the others. After several seconds, she finally asks Adam, “Did he tell you about the other dreamer?”

Adam scoffs. “Yes. Bryde. He said —”

Blue interrupts him again, sounding pained. “No, not Bryde. Um, the girl. Jordan?”

Adam blinks. What the hell is a Jordan?

“No, no,” says Henry, and there’s a rustling noise that makes Adam think that he’s taken the phone from Blue. “Jordan’s the dream, Hennessy’s the dreamer.”

“ _What?_ ” Adam demands, unable to string together even a single sentence. Jordan? Hennessy? The Lynch brothers are missing and there are all of these dreams and their dreamers, and Adam is sitting here on the phone with his best friends who are a thousand miles away, and —

“I think,” Gansey says carefully, seemingly having taken the phone from Henry, “that you might want to go to Fox Way.”

Adam scrubs a hand across his face. He has an essay due, an exam to study for, a group project to work on, and work-study hours to complete at the library. His school friends are still being weird about Ronan — they haven’t said anything, but he knows he saw Fletcher eyeing the bruises on his legs from dumping the bike on his way to and from Ronan the other day. Knows that they have a lot of questions about the damage to the room, and the cut on Adam’s arm from the talon knife. Questions Adam wants to avoid, but not for the reasons that they think.

“Is it…” His voice is strained, muffled where his hand is pressed to his face. “How bad is it?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. “It’s…” Blue finally says, after several long, fraught seconds. “It’s… not good, Adam.”

Adam swallows. Of course it’s not good. He never assumed it was _good_ ; it rarely ever is. The real answer isn’t in her words, though, it’s in the slight tremble of her voice, beneath all the bravado. She’s afraid — and anything that visibly frightens Blue Sargent has to be pretty bad.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Adam says quietly, his shoulders slumping.

Someone exhales deeply into the receiver. “We’ll fly back as soon as we can,” Gansey says, sounding regretful. Not regretful to return home, but regretful that he isn’t already there to help. “It should only take a day or two — it would be sooner, but we’re in the middle of the forest and —”

“No,” Adam cuts in, shaking his head despite the fact that his friends can’t see him. “No, I can’t ask y’all to do that, you’re all the way—”

“Adam,” Blue says, voice both firm and gentle at the same time. The Blue Sargent trademark. “We’re coming home.” There is no room for argument, and Adam doesn’t particularly want to fight them on this anyway. Loathe as he is to admit it, he could really use their help and their support if this turns out to be an entire… thing.

“Okay,” Adam breathes. Louder, he repeats, “Okay,” then checks the time and grimaces. “I’ve gotta go, but call me if you hear anything, okay?”

“Of course,” says Gansey. “And you’ll do the same?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Henry adds, further from the phone than he was when he last spoke. “We’ll let you know when we fly out.”

“Okay,” Adam says again. “Thank you, guys. I —”

“We know,” says Blue. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Be safe.”

“You too,” Gansey says. Adam ends the call and plugs his phone into the charger quietly, trying to keep his heart rate under control.

The Lynch brothers are missing. It has something to do with Bryde, Adam’s sure, as well as this dream-and-dreamer duo that Blue and Gansey and Henry mentioned. It rubs Adam the wrong way that Ronan didn’t mention any of this the last time they spoke, but to be fair, everything about this rubs him the wrong way.

He wants to stop and think it through, put the pieces together, but there’s no time. If he’s going to leave tomorrow, there’s so much to do: e-mail his professors, talk to Fletcher, pack his things, reschedule his work study hours. He sets to work immediately, typing up a few polite but perfunctory e-mails about a family emergency and asking may he please reschedule his exams and presentations? He e-mails the woman who schedules his hours in the library, too, and receives a reply from her almost immediately. _Of course_ , she says, _I hope your family is well. Thank you for letting me know._ As soon as he’s hit ‘send’ for the last time, he’s up and moving around the room, folding clothes and packing them tightly into a battered suitcase. He’s unsure of how long he’ll be gone or what exactly he’ll need, so he packs practically everything he owns (which isn’t particularly difficult, considering how little material possessions he actually has in his dorm). All his clothes, his tarot cards, his schoolwork. It would be depressing, how easily he can pack his entire life away into a single suitcase, if it weren’t so convenient.

When he’s done packing, Adam heads back to the dining hall for dinner. If he’s going to leave tomorrow for an indefinite period of time, he may as well get the most out of his meal plan tonight. He eats as much as he can, hardly even tasting anything as it goes down. The room is noisy and crowded, the typical evening rush of freshmen brushing past Adam where he sits alone at a small table near the wall. He tunes it all out, keeps his head low, and when he’s done eating he cleans up his table and then heads back to his dorm.

It’s only a little past seven, but the evening is pitch-black and the breeze has a bite to it. Adam hurries back to his building and lets himself inside, teeth chattering, then jogs up the stairs. He smiles absently at people he recognizes as he passes them in the hallway, exchanges mindless small talk as he stops to unlock his door. The boy from the room beside him chatters on and on about a lab they have together, and Adam nods and nods and nods, not really processing a word of it. Finally he manages to excuse himself, shove into his room, and slump against the door in exhaustion. And then he stands up straight and stops breathing for several seconds, because he’s not alone in his room.

One ankle resting on the opposite knee, Declan Lynch lounges in Fletcher’s desk chair, arching a single judgmental eyebrow at Adam from across the room.

Several thoughts cross Adam’s mind. _I should have guessed Declan could pick a lock,_ is the first, for some reason, and Adam almost snorts at the surprise of it. Second, he thinks, _Declan should dress casually more often, he looks a lot younger_ , as Declan is dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, perhaps the second time Adam has ever seen him out of a school uniform or a three-piece suit.

Adam’s belated third thought is, _Whatever this is, it can’t be good._

Declan doesn’t say anything, just patiently gives Adam the time he needs to react properly. _We really do understand each other,_ Adam thinks sardonically. His hands instinctively come up to smooth at his hair, pull at the hem of his vest. What he wants is to come out with the question that’s been on his mind all day: _Where is he?_ He wants to blurt out _Tell me he’s okay, tell me he’s alive._ He wants to say _I’ll come with you, let’s go get him._

But this is Declan, and even if he and Adam understand each other, even if there is no real fight between them, Adam is still Ronan’s soulmate first, last, and always. He has to carry on his lover’s feuds, no matter how ridiculous, no matter how inconvenient. So he straightens his shoulders and fixes Declan with his most unimpressed look. Willing his voice not to catch in his throat, he crossed his arms over his chest.

When he speaks, Adam’s tone is dry. “Everyone in your family likes to make a surprise entrance, don’t they?”

Declan blinks a few times, then exhales something like a laugh through his nose. “Good to see you too, Parrish,” he says. He uncrosses his legs and plants them solidly on the floor, then leans forward, elbows pressed to his knees.

“Well?” Adam’s impatient now, shoving off the door and coming to sit on the edge of his bed. “Tell me he’s alive, at least.”

Declan’s eyebrows shoot up, then settle back into an expression that can only be described as _bored_. An act, and they both know it. “He’s alive,” he says slowly, and relief crashes down on Adam like a physical thing. Declan diplomatically pretends not to hear Adam’s broken intake of breath as he continues, “Everyone’s alive, for now. But…”

Adam swallows. _But what?_ he almost demands, but he catches himself at the last moment. Declan gave him reaction time at the beginning of this conversation; Adam can allow him a few moments to choose his words now. Quietly, Declan wrings his hands, staring down at the floor. After several agonizing seconds, he finally looks back up at Adam and presses his lips into a thin line.

“It’s not safe here,” he says in a low voice. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.”

“You don’t have to ask,” Adam says. He nudges one foot against the side of his suitcase. “I’m already packed.”

Declan glances down at the suitcase and his face cycles through several complicated expressions before settling on something adjacent to pain. “You know, then?”

Adam frowns. “No, not really,” he admits, the words bitter on his tongue. “But I knew something was wrong, so…” He trails off with a shrug, his jaw clenching.

If possible, Declan’s expression tightens even more. His eyes search Adam’s face for several seconds, calculating in a way Adam can almost appreciate, and then says, softer than Adam has ever heard him, “You care about him a lot.”

It isn’t a question, just a fact. Part of Adam feels triumphant, knowing that Declan finally understands, that he’s made it past all the layers of suspicion and mistrust to land there at the glaring truth. Another part of Adam, the sharp, prideful part of him, hates that there could ever have been any doubt at all.

He does not vocalize any of this; rather, he says defiantly, “I love him.”

Declan closes his eyes at that, runs a hand through his hair. It’s messier than Adam can recall seeing it, and it surprises him just how _human_ Declan seems all of a sudden, how small and frightened and utterly normal. All of those years of envying him, aspiring to be him, idolizing him and every other Aglionby upperclassman, just to land here in this Harvard dorm, realizing that they were never that different to begin with.

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Declan warns him. Giving Adam an out, even now. _He cares too much for his own good,_ Adam thinks, then hates himself for thinking it at all. “I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“I don’t care,” Adam says. He doesn’t realize how true it is until the words are out in the open. He _doesn’t_ care, not when it’s Ronan. He’ll give it all up, a thousand times over, and he won’t even care because what is it worth without Ronan?

Nothing, that’s what.

Declan nods decisively. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he says with a humorless laugh. He stands and fidgets with the watch at his left wrist. Adam is reminded suddenly and viciously of Ronan and his leather bands. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember that these two boys grew up in the same house, that they share the same name. Sometimes, it’s hard to forget.

“I know,” Adam says. He thinks back on his phone call with Blue, Henry, and Gansey. “I know _exactly_ where to begin.”

The look Declan gives him is equal parts skeptical and thankful. He doesn’t question it, though, just nods again and looks pointedly at the door. “I’ll tell you everything I know in the car,” he says, and after a half-second of hesitation, he reaches down and picks up Adam’s suitcase.

Surprised, Adam raises an eyebrow but says nothing. If this is Declan’s idea of camaraderie — well, they can work on it later. Something tells Adam that Declan has even less experience with friendship than he does, which is saying something. At least Adam has had Gansey and Blue and Henry and Noah. Who has Declan ever had?

 _Yes_ , Adam thinks, _we certainly understand each other._

“Leave your phone,” Declan says as he reaches the door. “It’s not—”

“Safe,” Adam says, repressing an eye roll. He holds down the power button and then drops the phone regretfully in the top drawer of his desk. “Yeah, I get it.” He hates the idea of leaving it, of being unable to contact his friends or pick up if Ronan calls, but he trusts Declan on this. As an afterthought, he grabs some sticky notes and a pen and says, “Wait, I need to write a note for my roommate so he doesn’t assume I’ve been kidnapped.”

The note only takes a few seconds to scribble out. _Fletcher,_ it says, the ink smeared from where Adam presses his hand down a bit too hard, _Had to hurry home, family emergency. May not have a phone signal — house is in the country. Don’t worry. Will be back soon. Adam._ He’s aware just how suspicious it will probably sound, especially to his already-worried friends, but he doesn’t have much of a choice in what to say. Even if he knew where he was going or what he was doing, it isn’t like he could say so. He tosses the entire stack of post-it notes onto Fletcher’s bed and comes up behind Declan.

“Alright,” he says as Declan opens the door. Adam turns off the light, steps into the hallway, and uses his key to lock the door behind him. “Let’s go find Ronan.”

**Author's Note:**

> well, i hope you enjoyed!! as always, you're welcome to come find me on tumblr, i'm @sleepsongs :) i may write a follow-up to this to expand more on how i would see a declan/adam team-up going, let me know if that's something y'all would like!! sending love now and always <3


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